“What of God?” Black Pawl asked humbly; and the missionary looked at him and smiled a wise and kindly smile.
“You do not call him ‘my God,’” he suggested.
Black Pawl shook his head. “No—no. He’s mine too. There’s no escaping Him. But—what will He say to this matter, Father?”
The missionary rested his hands on the table, and his eyes met Black Pawl’s. “It seems to me, Cap’n Pawl, that you are a new man, reborn, this hour. Is it so?”
“Aye,” said Black Pawl. “It is so.”
“Then—this ugly matter. Perhaps it was God’s way of awakening you.”
“Harsh measures were needed, my son,” said the missionary gently.
Black Pawl nodded. His eyes clouded thoughtfully; he studied the other. “Father,” he said at last, “you must have guessed this thing from what I told you.”
“I did guess,” said the other honestly.